


Exhaustion, Heartsickness, and Flaming Undead

by Rosehip



Series: Strange Luck [15]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, or the very start of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 11:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: Zevran recognized the look on the Warden's face, however. He wore it, himself. Whatever they had found in that castle, it was nothing the Warden expected, and nothing he thought he could bear. He might, if left alone, be inclined to do something irrevocable.Either Zevran's word meant something, or it did not. In Antiva, it did not. Could not. In Ferelden? He had cut himself adrift. What kind of person was he, when not being told to be any particular way?





	Exhaustion, Heartsickness, and Flaming Undead

Redcliffe had been... educational.

 

Zevran had no idea what the date was. Truly, he had no idea of the very season in this land of incessant chilly rain. He could feel himself slipping into some alternate method of timekeeping wherein dates had no meanings, but you marked events by where you had been when they happened. He pondered what a diary might look like, marked out this way.

 

Denerim's Palace: He met the Regent and his henchman. That henchman had the same feel as some Crow trainers. The same perfect demeanor, the same impeccably groomed hands. No blood under his nails, oh no. Zevran got the fuck out of that secret-choked audience chamber as fast as decorum allowed.

 

The Alienage: He was denied entry, but scaled over the wall. He stayed with a smuggler, ahem, or rather a shopkeeper whose ladyfriend had recently been abused by nobles. She lived, unlike several others. After dark, the soldiers came. Again, evidently. Zevran and the shopkeeper made sure many of them did not leave. Alienages. They really were the same everywhere.

 

Lothering: He found the first real trail. What townspeople remained toasted the travelers and told stories about roast bears and lightning-struck highwaymen. A few angry refugees spoke of slain hunters and a freed murderer. Widow Allison lit a votive in the chantry and hoped those “nice boys” would stay safe on the road to the Circle. She shivered at the thought of demons.

 

King's Highway: He found (very foolish) refugee bandits going the same way.

 

The long road: They sprang their trap. Zevran had expected one mage, but he found three. But he did not find his death.

 

The middle of Maker-forsaken nowhere: He awoke in a wagon full of miscellaneous crap, spilled his guts in both literal and metaphoric fashions, and discovered that life-sucking dark mages drink herbal tea. They could also be either very softhearted, or playing a long game.

 

Redcliffe: Zevran had helped save it, with a blade of ancient elven make, bought for him from a human orphan for too much money. He wondered which of them the Warden tried to win over with that particular gesture, and why he bothered.

 

What undead townspeople had to do with the Regent, Zevran did not know, but a trail certainly led from one to the other. The other Warden claimed royal blood- the last person in Ferelden to do so; and he had been raised in Redcliffe. Interesting indeed.

 

Zevran had wondered what sort of ruler wouldn't want Grey Wardens in his country as it suffered a blight, but now he understood. Rulers anywhere didn't want rivals. Every other Warden scapegoated for Alistair, Zevran's true target.

 

The battle... Chaos and flaming undead (he'd tried to warn them...) overran the town. He had fought as hard as he ever had, too busy and too alarmed to make jokes. If he died here, he would rise. Any death sounded better than that. He kept near the elven Warden, holder of his vow, who had untied him, healed him, given him shelter, and a fine sword.

 

The undead came, looking like some evil force had twisted the soul of the very town itself. Zevran's new sword proved a worthy friend. It and his most trusted dagger ripped into the belly of an old farmer with glowing purple eyes. A skeleton in the rags of a gingham dress. A set of bones in the armor of a hundred years ago, with but one glowing eye left. Zevran spun and slashed and stabbed; to keep all of them away from the man he'd tried to kill less than two days ago.

 

Surana never noticed Zevran keeping the monsters off his back. He slung lightning and hexes until sweat dripped down his face and he sagged with exhaustion. Then, somehow, he found more energy and sent healing magic at the militia men to slow their deaths before they could fall. By the time the sky turned blue with false dawn, the Warden knelt on the ground, gasping for breath. He drank two eerie blue bottles of glowing lyrium with obvious distaste, and cast spell after spell with gritted teeth and labored breath.

 

A near thing in some cases, but nobody died. _At all._

 

Not enough hours later, they awoke to a chantry service; and the Wardens, the bard, and the elderly healer went into the castle. The rest of them remained in town to help rebuild. None of the humans minded a foreign elf, a giant, a Chasind witch, an enormous dog and two dwarves one bit.

 

Like he kept thinking... interesting.

 

Zevran tried to pretend not to mind that the giant dog had obviously been set to watch him. Ah well, he thought. It beat several alternatives.

 

Late that evening, the others returned. The Warden... Macsen, had announced that they'd rest and be on their way early next morning, back to the Circle. He said nothing else, to anybody. He tried to make notes in his journal, but slammed it shut, and stalked off into the woods.

 

Zevran recognized the look on his face, however. He wore it, himself. Whatever they had found in that castle, it was nothing the Warden expected, and nothing he thought he could bear. The Warden might, if left alone, be inclined to do something irrevocable.

 

Either his word meant something, or it did not. In Antiva, it did not. Could not. In Ferelden? He had cut himself adrift. What kind of person was he, when not being told to be any particular way?

 

He sighed. For now, he would be a cautious one. The other elf valued Zevran's well-being. No others demonstrated similar inclinations. He stood, and made to follow the Warden.

 

The dog growled in a way that definitely threatened violence, and he sat back down. “Fine, I will simply go to bed then. Will you allow that?”

 

The dog barked, and nudged him in the direction of the tent he shared with it and the W- Macsen.

 

“I seem to have my orders.” Zevran smiled, somewhat bitterly. Reduced to taking instructions from a dog! “Goodnight, everybody.”

 

They nodded, and watched him go. The obvious Bard actually wished him a good night.

 

He _was_ tired. Killing undead until the crack of dawn, burning twice-dead corpses, and random acts of carpentry took a lot out of a man. However... he'd been tired before. Once inside the tent, he looked regretfully at the pile of bedding he couldn't use just yet, and addressed the dog. “Ser Dog, you are an uncanny fellow. You understand me, do you not?”

 

The dog snorted and cocked its head.

 

“That is not much to go on. Look, you want to protect your master, yes?”

 

It wagged its tail nub and gave a small wuff.

 

“Progress. Well, he has become my master, as well. He needs to have someone nearby, right now. If I leave my weapons here, will you allow it? You can follow. See? I will set them all here.” He arranged every blade on him in a neat row. “Now I am safe, yes? Shall we go find our master?” _This is the most absurd part of the day. I must be more exhausted than I supposed. Oh well. If it works, it works._

 

The dog gave a louder bark and slipped out the back of the tent. Zevran silenced his movements and did the same. If he had told himself from half a year ago that this would happen, he would never have let himself live it down. Even now, he wondered how much of it was exhausted hallucination.

 

Tracking Macsen proved easy. He made no attempt, and indeed probably did not know how, to hide his whereabouts. He lay on a log just staring at the branches above him. Or, more probably, he stared at nothing. His eyes reflected the moonlight in blue-white, but did not so much as flicker in movement.

 

Zevran snapped a few intentional twigs as the dog trotted into the small clearing.

 

The Warden bolted upright. “Fang! You're not a very good guard.”

 

Zevran put his empty hands up in surrender even though the man didn't look like he intended to drain anyone's life. “I must disagree. He has not left my side, and would not allow me to follow you while armed. What else would you have of him?”

 

“How about not letting you follow me at all?” The Warden spoke without heat, however, and rubbed the dog's ears.

 

“I can be very persuasive, and he could see reason. Perhaps next time put somebody less intelligent in charge, hm? May I sit?” Zevran gestured at the log.

 

“Evidently I can't stop you.” Grumpy words, still spoken without emotion. Macsen re-situated to make room.

 

“You could, but you have demonstrated a distinct reluctance to use the methods that would work.” Zevran sat, leaving a gap between them. “A certain amount of thinking for myself has served me well.”

 

“None of this thinking has led you to the conclusion that maybe stomping off into the woods might mean I want to be left alone?”

 

“Do you?”

 

The Warden sighed and stared at the ground in front of him. “No. But the company I want, I can't have. It never ends. Almost everyone I've ever loved is dead or lost, and I can see no way to save the last of them.”

 

“The last of them being in that castle.”

 

“You don't miss much, do you? Yeah.”

 

“Can they be got _out_ of the castle?”

 

“No. He surrendered and refuses to un-surrender. He's doing good, and would never forgive me if I just... carried him out or something.”

 

“Yes, that was going to be my very next suggestion. Allow me to make one more.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Go to sleep, Warden. You said we would leave in the morning, so you know the next step you plan to take, yes? Does anything need doing before then?”

 

The Warden just looked at him for several moments before shaking his head.

 

“Will you return with me, then?”

 

“Ma nuvenin. I wish I thought sleep was going to be easy, though.”

 

Zevran stood and stretched. His motion came up short when he caught a moving shadow out of the corner of his eye. One step positioned his body between it and the Warden. “Ready your staff,” he said softly.

 

A murmured curse and a slide of metal against leather sounded the reply.

 

The dog merely let out a confused whine.

 

“Fang usually spots trouble,” whispered the warden.

 

Without a backward glance, Zevran grabbed the dagger out of the startled Warden's belt and darted towards the threat. The dog snarled.

 

The shadow stepped into the light at the same moment as the giant paws of the mabari collided with Zevran's back. He skidded to the ground. Teeth closed on one shoulder. Hot breath stroked across ear and neck.

 

“Oh, no!” called Leliana. “Stop, it is only me!”

 

“Fang, atish'an!” Macsen yelled.

 

Teeth released. The dog whined in confusion.

 

“He didn't know it was a friendly, Fang. Neither did I.”

 

The dog gave a disgusted whuff and removed its incredible weight from Zevran's back.

 

Zevran coughed and stood, carefully. “I probably should have realized,” he said as he brushed the dust from his face.

 

“Leliana?” asked the Warden.

 

“I apologize for the confusion. When I noticed this one sneaking off after you, I thought I had better keep watch. If nothing happened, then I would head back.”

 

“I'm never unarmed, you know.”

 

“You would be if someone used magebane or struck you senseless. And as you see, trained rogues are never truly unarmed, themselves.”

 

“Fair enough. You learn something new every day. That was...very educational. You all right, Zev?”

 

“I will mend, thank you,” he said as he handed back the dagger.

 

Macsen held up a stalling hand. “Hang onto it til we get back. I think we've established how pointless it is to keep weapons away from you.” A slow smile spread across his exhausted face.

 

This was not at all how most people discovered this fact, Zevran mused. If he didn't miss his guess, Macsen realized that.

 

They headed back to the camp. Alistair jumped up as they came into view, but Macsen waved and assured him things were all right. They actually hugged goodnight, but Alistair shot Zevran a measuring look over the smaller man's head. Ah, well. Zevran could hardly blame him.

 

Back in the tent, Macsen collapsed onto his bedroll and threw an arm over his eyes. “Ma serannas.”

 

That was very close to “I appreciate you” in Tevene. Zevran felt relief that eye contact wasn't being asked of him. He didn't know what to think about Macsen's apparent assumption he spoke elvhen, in the first place. He would pick it up soon, at this rate. “Why do you say so, Warden?”

 

“Macsen. How many times do I need to say? You've had a busy couple days. Don't think I didn't notice. You're looking out for me for some reason and I appreciate that.”

 

“I said I would, did I not?” Of course he'd said those same words to each of his masters, and look where he was, now.

 

Macsen gave a halfhearted chuckle. “Guess so. Anyway, as a wise man once suggested, I'm going to go to sleep. Maybe I can forget for a few hours how fucked up everything is, right now.”

 

“Ah, if only.”

 

In the end, it was Zevran who stared in wakefulness at the tent canvas above them, wondering what to make of the current state of things, and at himself.

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to Raymurata and Starla-Nell, whose work you should check out if you haven't, and who both took a look at this thing forever ago. 
> 
> My thanks also to Leliana who would not do what I told her to, and insisted she would NOT let an assassin follow her friend into the woods... and unexpectedly enabled me to discover something.


End file.
